Art smiled at the shadow man. His staff was still in hand as he did so, and he twirled it once  and slammed it on the ground as if he were asking the spirits for aid. "If yer so keen on provin' yer worth, then ya gotta think bout gettin' past wha'ever migh' be in yer path. See there migh' be a slight lean ta parta the felt jus' bout now. Nothin' ya c'n see, bu' I'm warnin' ya cuz I like ta see ya get a sportin' chance, sir." Art generally indicated the part of the felt along where the easiest shot for Sebastian to make would be.

He then pointed to a more difficult shot that would require a nice bank and a long roll. "Course if ya went tha' way, well, ya wouldn't have so much in yer way."

Art uses a Smarts trick to try to get Sebastian to think the Shaman may have made the easiest shot impossible to make using Art's mystical mojo. Not that there would be any apparent interference, of course.

23:14, Today: Art C. Wiley rolled 7,1 using d8,d6, rerolling max with rolls of 7,1.  Smarts Trick.

Maddox had struck his palm to his face and remained that way through Zek's speeches about murdering his kinfolk via shooting, mostly in saloons (for the crime of murdering people via shooting, in saloons). When he lowered it, his other hand was drumming its fingers rapidly on the bar and the Welshman was frowning hard.

Of a sudden he downed the rest of his American excuse for a beer, tapped the bar and got in a couple of hard liquor. One-shotting one, he stands and picks up the other.

"Wells," he calls over, then places the drink with an obvious little click on the bar for her, grabs his hat and the map he's made and attempts to stalk out into the rain with a look like the thunderclouds in his brain have collected to a storm.

He baulks a little at having to duck around Moses, but attempts it anyway.
This message was last edited by the player at 08:17, Sun 26 Feb 2017.

Moses reaches out with one arm, blocking the way.
"You are meandering across the path forward, without aim or goal. You could stumble and fall to the dark. Or you might allow Moses to lead you to the light."
He looks over the assorted group. "Many are gathered here today that are at a fork in their road."
Then his eyes lock on Roger's shadow. "Your shadow is not welcome here. Leave us be."

Leopold gently pushes against Moses' arm - since not only is it barring Maddox from leaving, but also him from entering.

"This is a most interesting group."
He wanders over to the bar and asks for a drink. He sips it, barely managing to not make a face.
"This... is horrible. Do you have anything that is good?"

In reply to Art C. Wiley (msg # 52):

Art can't see the shadow man's eyes, but he can feel the glare nonetheless. "I see." The shadow man looks around the room, at Zek, the rapidly departing Maddox, Jackie Wells moving over to take the drink offered, the sudden appearance of the preaching negro, and finally at Marshal Broaddale. Then he smiles tightly. "Know when to hold 'em, know when fold 'em...Eight Ball in the leftside pocket." he murmurs, leans over the table, and snaps off a quick shot. It's not the one suggested by Art, but it's also not the easy shot he'd had before.

The eightball sinks neatly into the side pocket...right as the cueball sinks into the corner on the opposite side. "Oh dear." the shadow says in a flat monotone. "A draw. Darn the luck." He looks at Matthew. "Seems like nobody gets what they want today." He tips his hat to the group. Even with the hat off, his face is obscured. "Gentlemen, I take my leave. Perhaps we shall play again under less...crowded circumstances. But for now, I feel an urge I cannot ignore."

Then he starts heading for the restrooms.

((OOC: The shadow attempts to resit the trick.

01:40, Today: Mr. Sebastian's Shadow rolled 4,1 using d8,d6, rerolling max with rolls of 4,1.  Resisting Trick.

Not good enough, so he tosses his white chip at it.

01:40, Today: Mr. Sebastian's Shadow rolled 3,2 using d8,d6, rerolling max with rolls of 3,2.  White Chip Reroll.

That doesn't do any better, so he assumes Art has meddled with the green. Instead of taking the shot as suggested, though, he does the simple thing. He cheats (gaining a +2 to his roll to offset the -2 from the Trick) to throw the match and end it in a draw, subtly bumping the table as he shoots. If he rolls a 1 on his skill die, he'll be caught, but at this point he's realized that "you got to know when to walk away, and know when to run."

01:51, Today: Mr. Sebastian's Shadow rolled 4,1 using d6-1,d6-1, rerolling max with rolls of 5,2.  Gambling, Cheating.

That achieves his objective -- ending the game without a clear win or loss.))

"You seem to think I am a lawyer, or lawman, or even a vigliante. Your family made this between you all and I. Your family acts as if they are all that matters in this world-and there are no consequences when they steal from it. Your family decided that other people are just obstructions to be knocked aside to try and get rid of me. I don't care about the law you hide behind, or mojo that conceals you from the truth, or your ridiculous excuses of others being worse.

You have taken-and someone has to make you pay. Might as well be me, as you won't stop the killing of other people who have nothing to do with any of this. I gave you my terms-and you wont accept them. So you better run-because your time is running out."

Zek glances over at Maddox as the Shadow man crawls away, and Wells as well. Trying to see if they want to tell him anything before the started following the shadow.
This message was last edited by the player at 17:41, Sun 26 Feb 2017.

Jackie downs her drink, looks at Zeke, and shakes her head. "Let him crawl away, Zeke. We got other priorities."

Dandy Don, the bartender, shrugs. "I do. How much are you willing to pay for it?"

Coot, having followed Von Steinhof inside, pulls out a bag, counts out a few gold nuggets, and lays them on the bar. "Is this enough for three bottles o' your finest and an hour of the room all to ourselves?"

Dandy Don opens his mouth, probably to say no...but then Wild Bill walks in.

"Uh, sure." he says, scooping up the nuggets as quick as he can, he hastily chooses three bottles from the top shelf, sets them out, and beats a retreat for the back room.

Not entirely suceeding in concealing his new-learnt fear of being in arm's reach of Moses, Maddox leans away from the giant, letting von Steinhof move between them. "I have aims and goals, see you, and I am heading to get on with them," he says, sidling past as best he can then off into the rain.

Matt's heart sinks, jumps, then sinks in a matter of a second as Sebastian sinks both. The Marshall tried to speak up, but balked a moment when the crowd began approaching.

"Now wait, Sebastian," He called after the retreating shadow, "That's not a draw, you lost! Come back here and settle! You cowardly piece of shit!" he shouted, then threw his cue down on the table.

He turned to Zeke, Wells, anyone else who had been giving Sebastian a dirty look.

"Thank you! Thank you so much, you fucking heroes! Thank you for your subtlety and tact in scaring off my attempt to get Sebastian's physical body in the same room as myself! THANK YOU SO GODDAMN MUCH."

He turned and snatched up his hat. Shoving it on his head, he glowered at the group.

"I ought to have you brought up on obstruction," he threatened as he shoved past them to an empty table.

Matt sat down and slumped his head into his hands. He didn't know if the Whateley man had ever intended to hold up his end of the bargain, but he knew this was a clusterfuck. He was shaken, he knew. Sebastian's knowledge about the mysteries in Matt's life was...unsettling.

He pulled out the two letters he'd gotten from the bank a few days prior. In case one was contaminated like the other had been, he couldn't open them now, but he held them up to the light, hoping to spot signs of powder or a letter.

He spotted Logan West out of the corner of his eye, and nodded to the man.

Leopold nods a "thank you" at the old geezer, grabs one of the bottles and a few glasses, then heads over to the table where Broaddale sits.
He plunks down the glasses and fills them with the booze.

"I have met this... man you played with before. He has many talents and is not easily kept in one place."

He raises his glass in a toast and tries it. "This... is better. Cigarette?" offering from his silver case.

He picks one up himself and knocks it against the table, then pulls out a pack of matches.

I wonder if he wants to continue to act as if we don't know each other or not...

Moses closes the door behind Maddox, then walks towards Kills Iron Horse and Walks the Night, but when he speaks, his deep, rumbling voice fills the room.

"This gathering here has the Lord's blessing. Moses see champions of the Lord who will add tremendous weight to the scale of justice when the Reckoning comes."
He turns, slowly, arms spread.
"There are also some who are in doubt, ready to fall from grace or ascend to the Almighty Spirit's army. Know that the Lord's most humble servant is not here to judge and smite you. If you let Moses lead you to the light, Moses will do so with joy. If you will allow yourself to become a tool for the Reckoners", and his voice grows even darker, "Moses promises that you shall be allowed to leave. But when you face Moses again, he will be the vengeful striking Hammer of God."

The Marshal pocketed his letters as Steinhof sat down.

"Thought I had a shot at him, without resorting to a lot of lead and blood," he admitted. He thanked the Austrian for his cigarette, and put it in his mouth as he waited for Leopold to light his own.

He didn't know this man, but he recognized him from the Bella Union. Apparently some kind of foreign dignitary.

"Thanks for the drink, Mr...?" he asked, trying to place the man's accent.


When the huge man spoke, Broaddale rolled his eyes. He'd already expressed his disbelief in the 'prophet', and so kept quiet for a moment. He did note the presence of Coot and Wells alongside a few others he had interest in watching.

Leopold took a long drag and let the smoke out in one billowing cloud.
He cocked his head at Broaddale's question, a wry smile on his lips.

"I am the Major Leopold, Freiherr von Steinhof of the army of His Most Apostolic Imperial Majesty, Franz Joseph the first of Austria-Hungary. I am the military attaché to the diplomatic mission to both the Confederated and the United States of America."

Matt blinked.

"Sorry, Major. Matthew Broaddale, U.S. Marshal Service. Was taking a vacation. Now I'm...not," he said, gesturing vaguely to the room full of people.

"Far as I can tell, Deadwood's not Confederated nor Unionized. What brings you here?"

Watching the Prospector annex the bar and Moses start in with the Holy Mad talk, Daisy raises her eyebrows, finishes her drink and sets the glass on the bar. "Whal, guess that's my cue."

"Nice talking to yer, Kills Iron Horse." She nods to the Dog Soldier, slips off her stool and heads on out, rifle slung at her shoulder.
This message was last edited by the player at 21:58, Sun 26 Feb 2017.

Jackie Wells heads over to Matt's table. "Sorry 'bout that." She says as Mr. Sebastian's shadow form slips from view. She takes a seat. "I didn't know you was tryin' somethin'." She shoots a dirty look at Zeke. "I reckon it's mostly him, though. Ain't man or woman alive gonna take it well when some asshole who don't know when to shut up accuses you and all your kin o' mass murder and swears bloody vengeance on everyone you care for. He's been goin' on about his hate hard-on fer the Whateleys for quite a spell now." She takes one of the glasses Von Steinhof brought, fills it, and takes a drink, then looks at Moses, then back at Matthew. "So. If I recall, you said you wanted to discuss the state of affairs in Deadwood. And I have a few things to say, as well. Looks like the holy roller here wants somethin' from me. And Coot..."

"Well, I'm powerful curious as to why he's callin' you the Woman Who Remember The Future," Coot says, joining the group at the table, "and how you say you know me but I don't recollect ever meetin' someone as interestin' as you."

Wild Bill takes a seat at a different table, still nearby. The three braves gather around Moses.

Jackie drums her fingers on the table. "Well, all of us have things to sort out. Who starts?"

Noticing Wild Bill, Belle stopped her conversation.

"A thousand pardons madam, but a matter of public health may be at hand."

She made a bee line to Wild Bill, and stared at him intently.

In reply to Jackie Wells (msg # 67):

Zek glances back at Jackie. "One-he called me over-and he already knows who I am and what his family has done. So, unless I should assume every goddamn Saloon has a Whateley in it waiting to make a mess, there was nothing to be done about it.

Two, Whateley's are crazy, but they ain't stupid. There is no way any of them are going to put themselves at risk-no matter how much a smooth talking lawman you are.

Three-they killed a lot of innocent people for no damn good reason. Unless someone stops em-killing me is not gonna slow down their murder spree the next time someone else makes them feel 'insecure'.

So maybe you need to stop judging people by their words and try on their deeds instead, Miss Wells. Sebastian helped his murderous kin Nicodemus at every turn. And I offered a truce that he asked for-and he did not take it. End of story."

Wild Bill looks back at Belle. "Madam, your stare is making me uncomfortable."

Jackie Wells counts on her finger. "One, he called you over to try and talk diplomacy. You're the one who threw it back in his face. If your idea of truce is 'hey, kill your brother then drop everything and leave town.' That ain't a truce. That's an ultimatum."

"Two, I've been on his case for six months. His shadow made a stab at me once. Half a dozen women who've acted as his assistant have wound up dead or else gone missing. The house he lives in eats people. But so what? You think he's unique in that? Half the goddamn businessmen in this town, from Al Swearengen to Cy Tolliver to Huang Li, are party to the same sorts of disappearances. Wong Fe lee, the butcher, feeds his hogs on corpses brought to him to make them disappear. Frank Byrant has scalped at least five Sioux that I know of and god knows how many I don't." She throws up her hands. "Welcome to fuckin' Deadwood! It can be combative. You gonna take them all on? Or are the Whateleys somehow special because they pissed in your canteen?"

She leans back in her chair. "And right now, we got Carter, a known rapist and shootist, loose somewhere in town. We have a vampire or rakshasha or some unholy other critter drinking miners dry. And we got the same collection of drunken fights, claim jumpers, and crimes o' passion we always did, only now we also have a fucking military dictator and his horde of mercenaries hanging over everything. About the only thing solved right now is that the Bella Union ain't gonna eat people, Wild Bill's back in his right mind, and that worm cult's behind bars."

In reply to Jackie Wells (msg # 70):

"If know how God damn awful he is, why are you yelling at me!? You want me making deals with that worthless Sack of crap!? Do you think even if I took 29 dollars for my trouble and pretended I never heard of those sons of...of ...whatever it is they have for a mother they would buy it?"

He shook His head. "There is a lot of things I regret in this world,  but going after people like that ain't one of em!"

He glanced over at Bill and his issue. "Ma'am...please stop worrying Bill. He's a changed man, and anything he did was not him. I know that does not seem like much of an answer, but it's the truth. Bill himself would fix the situation if he had the ability. It's just not as simple as it is for most folk."

Art quietly listened as the woman named Jackie Wells spoke. This was their oracle, the one they had been sent to find, and who would help them on the next step of their journey. Each step would be more difficult than the last, and it had been difficult enough to get this far.

While he was now more apt to listen than speak, Art sighed when Jackie seemed to get derailed by the concerns of Deadwood. The information she had was much more far-reaching.

"Miss Jackie Wells? If ya be the Woman tha' Remembers the Future, than I tink ya should go first." He was belatedly responding to her question about who starts. "I mebbe have sometin' ta add when yer done. For those I haven't yet had the pleasure o' meetin', I be Art Wiley."

Jackie lets out a long sigh. "Yeah. Priorities. Alright, thanks Art." She contemplates the bottle, then looks over at Coot. "But...I actually reckon Coot oughta go first."

"Me?" Coot looks up from his drink abruptly. "Why?"

"'Cause my story ain't really complete." Jackie says. "You know more about The Reckoning. Hell, most of what I know is things you told me, once upon a time. And though I think the preacher gots a notion about it, the rest o' these folks don't. Not like you have, at any rate. And my story ain't gonna make much sense without them knowing."

Coot shrugs. "Well, sure. I suppose I can jaw a while." He heads over to the table. "So, let me tell you about my encounter with Running Wolf..."
This message was last edited by the player at 03:41, Mon 27 Feb 2017.

"So this was back, oh, round the middle of '67. California hadn't yet sunk into the sea. I was prospectin' out in Arizona, when I came across this fella..."

---

Sometime in June, 1867, Sundown. Rattlesnake Spring, Galiuro Mountains, Arizona

some mood music

The old man lifted his pan out of the water, and swished the sediments around. It took a keen eye to spot flakes, especially in this rapidly fading light. Soon, he'd have to pack it in for the night, and this stream had been disappointing thus far...but ah! There was that beautiful color!

The old prospector had been out west since the Rush of '49. This country suited him...wide open spaces, not too many faces. Sometimes he wondered if it all were worth it. But then there were times like today, when things were looking up.

The old man took out a pair of tweezers and carefully picked out the flecks of gold in the pan, then tipped them into a small vial of water. it wasn't much, but it meant that he was on the right track. Soon, he'd track the source of these flacks and...

From the bushes, he heard a groan.

The old man's hand went to his Springfield. Could be nothing. Could be danger. You never knew, especially these days, and he'd heard some might odd rumors about the wilderness around here. Things he didn't half believe, but he hadn't gotten to be an old man by not being ready for anything.

He crept over to the bushes, following the moans. And there, he spied a crumpled figure, an Indian in a dark robe, stretching a black-stained hand towards the stream. There was a trail of blood, and a pool of it below the man's body. The fella looked like he'd crawled a fair distance, had passed out, and was only now coming to.

"Hey there!" The old man said, leaning his rifle against a tree. The robed figure started, then rolled weakly to his side.

[Language unknown: "...iloldi..."] The robed figure gasped. He reached towards the stream again, but just didn't seem like he had any strength left. [Language unknown: "...undichine..."]

"Hey, now." The old man scooted forward, pulling his canteen free. "You're injured. Do you speak any English? You're hurt. Ain't good to move." He crept over the fallen man, and pulled the Indian's robe back...then jumped at what he saw.

The Indian's face was horribly scarred. Burned, it looked like, all shiny and covered in a spidery network of blue veins. His eyes were a solid, inhuman red, and those black stains on his hands and arms...well, up close, they looked like bloodstains.

The Indian's red eyes fixed on the old man. He nodded weakly. "I...yes. English, yes."

The old man swallowed, but, hell, even though this fella looked all manner of strange, he was still in need of help. So the old man bent over him and tipped the canteen into the Indian's mouth. The Indian drank and drank.

"Wado" The Indian said at last. "Th-thank you."

"T'ain't Nothin'." The old man said. "Just doin' what anyone oughta do in my place."

"No..." The Indian shook his head. "No...for what I have done, you should kill me on sight." he raises one of his black-stained hands. "For my crimes...I will burn in your Hell." He rubs his stomach. "Already...I feel the flames."

The old man checked the wound. It was nasty, alright. A gut wound, a ragged tear by some kinda claw. Slow, painful way to die, and it was already infected. "Damn." he muttered. "Sorry, fella." he looked down on the scarred wretch. "Look, if'n you want, I can sit with ya. Until the end. If you're gonna die, at least you don't gotta die alone."

The Indian nodded, and the old man went about building a fire. It didn't look like he'd get back to camp, but he was still prepared to rough it. Soon he had a cheerful blaze going. The old man looked back at his companion.

"That sounded like Cherokee you were speakin'." The old man said. "Awful long way from home, ain't ya?"

The Indian nodded. "Long way, yes. Long way, ever since The White Father in Washington told my people 'you must leave these lands.' We walked a long trail, filled with tears. Then I walked more. Now I am here, and here I will die."

"Well, here ya is. I'm Coot, by the by."

"Adatlisvi Waya. Running Wolf."

"Well, Running Wolf." Coot said. "I don't mean to pry, but I am awful curious about how you got out here. What was it that attacked you? Cougar? Bear?"

Running Wolf shook his head. "Manitou. Evil spirit. Sent after me by Raven, for I have turned against him who once I served."

"Who's Raven?" Coot had heard the name before. Some of the tribes around here spoke about a man calling himself Raven who'd come by in the past, preaching about war. But that was all the information Coot had ever gotten, and now here seemed to be someone who could ease his curiosity some.

"Raven is...the last son of the Susquehanna." Running Wolf said. "Many years ago, he came to us..."
This message was last edited by the player at 04:39, Mon 27 Feb 2017.

Logan entered late and had taken a seat by von Steinhof when Coot's story began. He had been on the verge of saying something to his Austrian friend, catching up with him on events that had transpired in the saloon when the old prospector began his tale.

May 7th, 1861. Evening. Cherokee Reservation, Oklahoma



Some Mood Music

The Ani-Yunwiya had gathered to hear the Shaman speak. They'd heard of him, of course -- word had spread among the Five Civilized Tribes like wildfire of Raven, The Last Son Of The Susquehanna.

But now he was here, before them. He and those who followed him. They came from many tribes -- Iroquois, Powhatan, Lenni Lenape, Seminole, Creek, Chickasaw, and others Running Wolf had never heard of. Some of them had been ancestral enemies, some had been allies forever. Running Wolf even saw a few of the Negro tribe among them, those the whites had brought over the sea in chains.

And now they had reached the lands of the Ani-Yunwiya, a once-proud tribe reduced to reservation life, constant starvation, and the depredations of white outlaws who fled their own law and hid in the lands that the Tsalagi had been forced onto over twenty years ago.

Running Wolf still remembers that march, though he'd been but a child when it happened. His father had died resisting the Long Knives, shot down like a dog in the mud. His mother had died on that long trail of tears, died because she'd given her share the meager food to him. They'd left her body on the trail, marched over it, thousands of feet pressing her down into the mud. Oh yes. He remembered.

And now here was Raven. He stood before them, tall and proud, showing few signs of age, though it was rumored he'd lived over a century. He raised his hands, and the assembled fell silent.

"You know who I am!" He shouted, his powerful voice carrying over the clearing. "They call me The Last Son of the Susquehannock, for I am the only one who remains of my tribe! Once, we were a mighty people! Our lands once stretched across what the white man now calls New York, Pennsylvania, and Maryland!" The man frowns. "The white man called us Susquehannock -- a word that means 'enemy' in the language of our rivals! Just as they named you Cherokee! Just as they named all who are not them!"

Running Wolf nodded at this. Many others did as well.

"Our people were mighty! Until the white man came! He brought with him plague! The smallpox ravaged us, until only a few remained! And so we sought the White man's medicine. But The white man are like the plague they bring! They spread! They consume! They destroy! And their price for their medicines was that we gave up what made us strong. They took our language! They took our ways of making meals, of living with the land! They took our hair! And they wanted us to become them. They said we would need to be cleansed by their God, and only then would we be saved!"

Raven paused. "And so we dwelled as they did. But we were not equal to them. We were as their pets! But we would be protected, we thought. We would be healed by their medicine, saved from damnation by their god. But then the mighty Pontiac turned against the white man, and raised an army against them! That was so far from us, but it did not matter! No, it did not matter at all that we were as like them as we could be -- they still hated us in their heart of hearts, and they came to slaughter us! In the dead of winter they fell on my village. And then, when the white fathers took in the survivors, we were placed in their gaols. For 'protection.' But this too was a lie! The angry mob came again, stormed the gaol, and killed everyone they could catch! I took a blow to the face and fell as if dead."

Raven sighs. "I was a boy then. Awakening to fire and smoke, drenched in blood. For a moment, I dared hope it had all been a nightmare -- but then I turned, and I knew that it had not. For it was then that I looked upon the end of all that I had ever known, of all that I had ever loved! My family! My friends! My people!"

"And you know this pain!" Raven pointed out at the crowd. "You know what they will do when they want something you have! Yes, I know of your trail of tears! Do you think they will not come again? When they want this land, too? When they find gold or need room for their farms -- who will they take it from? Who do they always take it from? We can never dwell in peace with them! They are empty holes! They are a plague that devours! And they must be swept from these shores back across the sea!"

There were cheers from the crowd now. For a long time, the Ani-Yunwiya had adopted many of the White Man's ways. They were part of the five "civilized" tribes. But Running Wolf had always hated that term, for it implied that they had not been civilized before the White Man came. And that coal of anger now flared in his heart at Raven's words.

Running Wolf saw frowns from the elders. One of them, Degataga, spoke. "These are dangerous words. How would you fight the Americans? They powerful and numerous. They would fall on us like so many locusts, and we would be crushed."

Raven laughed. "There is a way. Long have I sought the spirits. Long have they been silent. The Old Ones, it is said, went to them, bound them to stop evil in this world." he shakes his head. "But evil is still here! The Old Ones have failed! The white man has done so much worse to us than any spirit! Now the two great tribes of white man fight a mighty war. The murdering canons roar like thunder as the Blue and the Grey attack each other. There is no better time to strike! I intend to go into the Hunting Grounds, with any who will come with me. There, we will tell The Old Ones what the white man has done. We will make them open the gates, and return the spirits to us! And with their power, we will drive both their tribes from these lands forever!"

There is a murmur from the crowd. It is less confident than before.

Degataga shook his head. "This is folly. This is madness. Your hate has poisoned your mind. Leave this place."

And Raven did. But before he went, he asked if any would join him. And Running Wolf stood.

"I will come with you." He told the shaman. "My family, too, was killed by the white man. Like you, I am the last son of their line."

Raven nodded. "These here are all last sons." he waved to those who followed him. "The last of their families. The last of their villages. Some, the last of their tribes. I welcome you among them."

And so it was that Running Wolf took his place among these Last Sons.

---

here, Coot paused, and took a drink.